We have two cats. They’re not ours, they belong to our neighbours. But they look like becoming regular visitors.
When I was unpacking things a few days ago, our neighbour visited and warned me that there might be an “inquisitive cat” coming to visit.
“Yes, I know,” I said. “We’ve met.”
Right on cue, Chester (for that was his name) came darting out of my front door, fresh from his expedition into our living room full of cardboard boxes. He’d been exploring and had obviously enjoyed himself.
Later, we also met Artie, the other cat from next door. Artie, while initially nervous, is now much more keen to come in whenever possible. “Whenever possible” meaning “whenever the door is open.” We’ve had to kick the little bugger out several times already as he’s already decided this place is his second home, it seems.
It transpires that the people who used to live here took care of the aforementioned cats whenever the neighbours were away, so it seems the cats associate this house with pleasant times. Fine by me. Cats are awesome.
(In other news, we get Proper Internet here in two weeks. At that time, the quality and length of entries will likely show a marked upswing as I can stop writing them on my phone and start doing them on the computer with its word count facility once more.)
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